


History is Just Another Name for our Memories

by borealowl



Series: Four Cups of Wine and related stories [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Good Omens is kind of midrash fanfic anyway, M/M, Midrash, Talmud, emotional support anti-demon bathroom sheep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borealowl/pseuds/borealowl
Summary: Aziraphale brings a very old, very special bottle of wine to Shabbat dinner. Yael and Naomi finally crack and start asking questions about history, and just what and who Crowley and Aziraphale remember. There might also be a trip to New Jersey.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Four Cups of Wine and related stories [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605910
Comments: 87
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Periphyton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periphyton/gifts).



> Periphyton requested a story about Naomi and Yael finally giving in to curiosity, not so much about theology, but about all the history that Crowley and Aziraphale must have witnessed. Did Aziraphale know Rashi? Did Crowley know Rambam? 
> 
> As usual, notes [here](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/68752005?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_371941059). This story is going to be rather reference-heavy, and I'll try to drop source links to the Talmud and midrash that get referenced along with the usual explanatory notes.

“It’s great that you guys could join us for Shabbat,” says Naomi, carrying two covered challah loaves in from the kitchen.

Crowley shrugs. “Didn’t have anything better to do.”

“ _I_ wanted to come,” says Aziraphale.

In fact, the angel had insisted on it, steadfastly refusing to explain his reasons. When Crowley accused him of plotting something, he’d simply smiled and said “I don’t see why you should be the only one who gets to cause trouble.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to come,” Crowley says. “Just that I didn’t have anything better to do.”

Naomi snorts. “Yes, I’m sure being a retired demon keeps you very busy.”

“Unfortunately, Crowley is very good at keeping himself busy,” says Aziraphale with a sigh.

“How was I supposed to know that the Panamanian ambassador was in that van?” Crowley protests.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have been hijacking vans in the first place, dearest?”

“Perhaps _they_ shouldn’t have been blocking the alley next to your shop.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s very inconvenient when someone else takes your illicit parking space.”

Yael places the salad bowl on the table. “Should we ask?”

“No need,” Aziraphale tells her. “You can simply read the newspaper article. I brought a copy of the _Times_ , just in case you wanted to read it.”

“Ooh, I do!” asks Miriam. “And I can take it to class for current events on Monday.”

“Is everyone ready for Shabbat?” Yael asks. “We’re approaching candle-lighting time.”

Aziraphale has a small smile that clearly wants to be a larger one as he pulls out a dusty glass bottle that Crowley doesn’t recognize.

“Actually,” says the angel, “Before we begin, I hoping that you would let me supply tonight’s wine.”

“For kiddush, or just with dinner?” asks Yael.

“Both, if you’re willing. I won’t be offended if you don’t want to use it for kiddush. Though it _is_ kosher, I can assure you.”

“Since when do you care if wine is kosher?” asks Crowley. “What even makes wine kosher? It’s not like they’re putting lobster in it.”

Yael shrugs. “There are some complicated things about additives, but mostly it’s just wine made by Jews.”

“But you drink whatever wine we bring,” says Crowley.

“Well, we don’t really keep kosher,” says Yael. “Though we do eat a lot of kosher-style dishes by default because Naomi grew up with it.”

“My parents keep kosher when they’re at home,” says Naomi. “And I think two of my sisters still eat kosher-ish, though Amy’s the only one in the family who’s actually strict about it. But even she’s fine with unhechshered wine.”

“Not for kiddush, though,” Yael says.

“True!”

“Unhechshered?” Aziraphale asks.

“You know,” Naomi says, even though it is clear that Aziraphale doesn’t. “The little mark on the package that says it’s kosher.” Seeing his look of incomprehension, she leaves the room, wincing and rubbing her lower back as she does so. Crowley reflexively sends a miracle to ease whatever pain and stiffness she’s feeling, and he’s rewarded with a wry smile before she goes into the kitchen. She returns quickly, holding the canister of matzoh meal left over from Passover.

“See the U with the circle? That’s the hechsher.”

“Oh,” says Aziraphale. “Well, _this_ bottle of wine does not have any sort of seal, I’m afraid, but I can assure you that by the standards you’ve just outlined, it is most certainly kosher.” His look of anticipation has returned, and his eyes are sparkling with mischief that is in no way angelic. Naomi gives him a suspicious look, then turns to Crowley.

“Do you know what he’s up to?”

“Nope!”

“How do you know it’s kosher?” asks Miriam. “Did you watch it get made?”

“Yes,” says Aziraphale, “And I can assure you that it was made by Jews. Moreover, it was made under rabbinic supervision.”

A memory surfaces for Crowley, and he laughs as he puts it together. The three humans turn to look at him.

“Well?” says Naomi.

“You don’t want me to spoil the surprise, do you?” It’s a rhetorical question—he knows that they don’t.

Miriam glances up at the clock. “Um, were we going to light candles?”

“Eep!” Naomi rushes into the kitchen to retrieve the main dish—Crowley is pleased to note that there’s no stiffness this time—while everyone else quickly finishes setting up the table. It’s a minute or two after the official candle-lighting time when they actually finish, “but that’s why we have the eighteen minute buffer between the set time and actual Shabbat,” says Naomi.

Miriam lights the candles, the three humans and one angel sing the blessings and traditional songs, and everything is the way it usually is, until Naomi gets three words into Shalom Aleichem and falls momentarily silent, the oddest look on her face. Then she bursts out laughing. Yael and Miriam try to get her to explain, but she’s laughing too hard, doubled over, until she manages to wave a hand in the direction of Aziraphale and Crowley and gasp out “Mal'achei Hasharet,” at which point Yael starts laughing too.

“How is it that we’ve had you over for Shabbat a dozen times since you told us, and yet we’re only making the connection now?” she asks.

“Excuse me,” says Crowley, amused. “There’s only the one angel here. If you’re going to be welcoming any others, I’m leaving.”

Naomi is still giggling, but manages to say “You know, it’s said that every household is visited by a good and bad angel on Shabbat.”

“Er.” Crowley is slightly less amused. Naomi immediately stops laughing.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking that could refer to you. You’re not an angel!”

He shrugs. “Demon, fallen angel, same idea. Same original stock.”

She shakes her head. “Ugh, I’m sorry, it didn’t even occur to me to make the connection. In the story it’s two matched angels, except one wants Shabbat to be peaceful and happy, and the other wants it to be miserable and unpleasant. Neither of those are much like you.”

“The latter sounds like Sandalphon,” says Aziraphale. “He’s very unpleasant.”

Crowley narrows his eyes. “If _he_ shows up…”

“Then you’re leaving?” asks Naomi.

“Then we’re _all_ leaving,” says Aziraphale, “and Crowley and I will ensure that you get away safely. Sandalphon is far too fond of smiting.”

“And he’s not very good dinner company,” says Crowley. “Tedious self-important bully. Never liked him.”

“He doesn’t sound like an angel of peace, then,” says Naomi, “So I don’t think the song applies to him.”

“It doesn’t apply to Zira either,” says Miriam.

Yael says, “I don’t know, I think Zira’s very peaceful. Didn’t you give your sword away?”

The girl grins. “That’s not why. At the end of Shalom Aleichem we say farewell to the angels and send them away, right? We don’t want to send Zira away right before Shabbat dinner!”

“I would be quite disappointed if you did,” says the angel in question.

“Why _do_ we send the angels away?” asks Miriam. “The metaphorical ones, I mean. Not you.”

Yael smiles. “Good question! Any ideas?”

“Because angels are terrible company.” Crowley slides his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Except this one.”

Aziraphale smiles and kisses him. “I’m glad you’re willing to make an exception for me.”

“That’s not an argument I’ve heard before, but I’m willing to consider it. Though my sample size of one suggests that angels are excellent company,” says Yael.

“Maybe the Shabbat angels are just there to start us off?” says Miriam. “And then they leave because their work is done.”

“That reminds me of another explanation I’ve read,” says Yael. She smiles. “But it definitely doesn’t apply to Zira here.”

“Oh?”

“Well, the theory is that we invite the angels to help sanctify the Shabbat, but then they leave because we’re about to eat a meal, and angels can’t eat.”

Naomi laughs. “That’s true, that’s in the midrash as well—the not eating, I mean. It’s part of why we didn’t think you could be an angel, Zira. Guess they got that one wrong.”

“Actually,” says Aziraphale, “I don’t know about _can’t_ , but I’m the only angel who is _willing_ to eat. None of the others will even try. Gabriel says it would be sullying the temple of his body with gross matter.” He looks down, and Crowley tightens his arm, pulling the angel closer.

Yael looks thoughtful, then smiles. “I should share the rest of the theory, then. The idea is that the angels are holy beings, but by making Shabbat dinner part of our observance, we can actually surpass them in holiness, at least for the moment. It’s a sacred act that they can’t participate in. So by that metric, you’re actually holier than Gabriel, Zira. You’re _sanctifying_ the temple of your body. At least when you eat with us at Shabbat.”

“Hah!” Crowley grins. “I _like_ that theory.”

But Aziraphale still looks sad. “I don’t think anyone in Heaven would agree with you.” Crowley hates that expression. It makes him want to bite someone.

Naomi makes a face. “Who cares what they think? Like we keep saying, we’re not in Heaven. They don’t get any say. _And_ they’re not invited to Shabbat dinner.”

“You just sang a song inviting them,” Crowley points out.

“Only angels of peace. Anyone coming here to be mean to Zira is by definition not an angel of peace.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed,” says Yael, “Because then Naomi will yell at them, and that’s not peaceful at all.”

“You shouldn’t shout at angels for my sake,” Aziraphale protests, but Crowley can tell that he’s pleased. 

“It’s not entirely for your sake,” says Naomi, “First of all, I’d do the same for any of my loved ones, and second of all, they shouldn’t insult my cooking. ‘Gross matter’ indeed.”

Aziraphale does smile at that. “Your challah surpasses anything Heaven has to offer. Particularly the one with raisins.”

“Well, _yeah_ , we’ve just established that there isn’t any food there.”

“We have gotten _very_ off-track,” says Yael. “Zira, did you still want to provide the kiddush wine?”

“Oh, yes!”

He pours a little wine into the kiddush cup. Crowley uses a tiny miracle to keep the humans from smelling it and spoiling the first half of the surprise.

“You can say the blessing too, if you want,” Yael adds. Aziraphale’s face brightens even more.

“Really? I would love to.” He holds up the cup and sings the long version of the wine blessing. Musically, it’s a bit confusing, because he starts out singing the tune that Yael and Naomi usually use, but then he gets sidetracked, slipping first into a medieval version and then sliding into something that Crowley’s pretty sure originated with the early Babylonian exiles. Yael looks amused, and Naomi is squinting in concentration, trying to trace the different pieces.

Beaming and practically bouncing with excitement, Aziraphale passes the kiddush cup around for everyone to take a sip. 

“Well?” he asks. Crowley is also trying to hide his anticipation, and doing a better job of it.

Yael and Naomi both have the strangest looks on their face.

“Um, it’s, well…” Naomi’s tongue is flicking, almost like a snake’s, as she tries to make sense of the flavor.

“It’s very unusual,” says Yael. “I’m curious as to why you wanted us to try it.”

“It’s gross,” says Miriam. “Sorry, but it is. It tastes like someone tried to make kombucha out of Manischewitz.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s _that_ bad,” says Yael. “It is a bit intense, though.”

‘When did you have kombucha?” Naomi asks.

“Adelaide’s mom made some.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Did you like it?”

“No. It tasted like this stuff, except less sweet.”

Aziraphale doesn’t look nearly as disappointed as one might expect. Crowley grins. “Not very angelic of you, giving this stuff to the humans.” He takes a tiny sip of the stuff, just for the memories, and shudders. “Ugh. Terrible stuff. You people have gotten much better at wine over the last millennium.”

“Does it taste like this because it’s old?” Miriam asks. “Really old wine turns into vinegar, right?”

“My wine would _never_ ,” says Aziraphale huffily.

Crowley shakes his head. “This is just what wine used to taste like. Awful, isn’t it? And this is actually pretty good by the standards of the day. No rock dust, no raisin syrup. You might like it better when it’s been watered-down. This from one of the batches you helped Shlomo with?”

Naomi blinks. “Shlomo.”

Aziraphale nods. “Yes, he gave me a cask as thanks.”

“For helping him make the wine?” asks Yael.

“Well, that and helping him open his yeshiva. Not that I did that for the wine—or for his thanks,” the angel adds quickly. “I simply wanted to support his scholarship—he was a brilliant man. Very well-read, too. Come to think of it, I’m sure I still have the first editions of his commentaries somewhere.”

Naomi has an even stranger look on her face. Over the years, Crowley has come to appreciate the wide range of facial expression humans are capable of, and this one is a real treasure. Her eyes are wide, and there’s the faint suggestion of a smile on her face, but it could just as easily be baring her teeth. When she speaks, he can hear the effort she’s making to stay calm.

This is great. He should have made popcorn.

“Zira,” says Naomi, her voice the same mix of sweetness and acid as the wine she’d just tasted. “Roughly what year are we talking about?”

Aziraphale waves a hand, seemingly oblivious to the danger he’s in. “Oh, the late eleventh century, give or take a few decades. I can’t remember the precise date.”

“And your friend Rabbi Shlomo, I don’t suppose his father’s name was Isaac?”

“Why yes! How did you guess?”

“Ziiiiira!”

Aziraphale beams. “Indeed! Isn’t that a lovely surprise? I thought you would enjoy the history, if not the beverage.”

Naomi waves her hands in exasperation for a full minute before she remembers how to speak. “I can’t believe you just gave us _wine_ made by _Rashi_ and you didn’t tell us!”

“I did tell you, just now.”

“Actually, you didn’t,” says Yael. “Naomi figured it out herself.”

“Oh. You’re right.” Aziraphale smiles. “Well done!”

“Gaaahhhhh!” Naomi waves her hands some more.

“You can’t discorporate him,” says Crowley.

“Why not? Because he’s family, because he’s immortal, or because you’ll protect him?” asks Naomi.

Yael smiles. “Because it’s Shabbat,” she says. 

“Also he can’t show you the commentaries if he’s been inconveniently discorporated,” Crowley adds.

“Um, speaking of Shabbat, were we going to wash our hands and say hamotzi?” asks Miriam.

“Gahhhh.”

“Yes,” says Yael quickly, “Let’s. Sweetheart?”

Naomi shoots Aziraphale a quick glare that promises trouble later, then grins. “Shabbat is certainly more lively with you two.”

“That’s a very polite way of saying chaotic,” Crowley notes.

“Isn’t it? You’re welcome.”

They finish the blessings without further interruptions and sit down to dinner.

“Crowley,” Yael murmurs to him, looking slightly concerned. “I hope that the story about eating Shabbat dinner being a holy act doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Nah. _I’m_ not making an offering out of eating, I’m just eating.” Actually, he’s mostly just drinking wine and passing his food off to Aziraphale, but he does try a few bites of everything. “And I’m only eating because there’s poppy seeds on the bread.”

“Oh good,” says Naomi, “I hoped you’d like that. I can start making a poppyseed loaf every time you guys come.”

“Unlike certain angels, I can’t be lured in with food.”

“DOn’t worry, I know. And yet, you keep coming back anyway.”

He ignores this and takes another bite of challah.

*****

“Okay, question,” says Naomi as they’re cleaning up the dinner dishes. “Is that really wine made by Rashi?”

“Of course,” says Aziraphale. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“It’s just that I thought that they didn’t usually put wine in glass bottles back then,” she says. “Was that wrong?”

“No, your recollection is accurate. I decanted this into a bottle to bring for dinner. The rest of it is in a cask back in my basement.”

“It’s too bad we can’t share this with Harry,” says Yael.

“Hah, yeah, Dad would get a kick out of the whole thing.”

“Why can’t you?” asks Aziraphale.

Naomi shrugs. “I mean, we could share the wine with him, but without the context it’s just weird stuff to drink.”

“You could give him the context,” says Crowley. Of all the humans in their circle, Harry and Deb are the two remaining that Crowley would consider telling. Once it was clear that he and Aziraphale were a semi-permanent fixture in Yael, Naomi, and Miriam’s lives, Naomi’s parents started treating them like a pair of adoptive sons. Which is occasionally a little odd, given that Crowley has taken naps that lasted longer than their human lifespans, but it’s less annoying than he would have assumed. The novelty hasn’t worn off yet.

“It’s not really our story to tell,” says Yael.

“It could be.” Crowley is okay with Deb and Harry finding out, but he’s also a bit of a coward, and would happily delegate the big reveal.

“Crowley.”

“What?”

Yael shrugs. “Well, we’re going to visit them on Sunday. You’re welcome to come—whether or not you feel like having the big conversation.”

“Ehhhh,” Crowley shifts in his seat. “We might be busy then.”

“Yes, of course,” says Naomi, looking far too innocent. “I’m sure Zira needs to start opening his shop for the weekend crowd.”

“Well when you put it _that_ way,” says Aziraphale, “We’d be delighted to come.”

Crowley glares at Naomi, who grins back. “Come on, Crowley, you don’t have to tell them anything if you don’t want to. I promise not to drop any hints at all.”

“Hey,” says Miriam, “Why is Crowley always the one who decides whether you guys are going to tell people about you two? Do you not care or something?”

“Of course I care,” says Aziraphale. “But Crowley cares more.”

“It’s not a matter of _care_. I have more to risk.”

Aziraphale nods. “It is a little easier to admit to being an angel, especially now that humans usually think of us as entirely benevolent, for some odd reason. The worst that can happen is that they don’t believe me.”

“And _my_ worst case scenario is they do.”

“ _We_ believe you, Crowley,” Yael says quietly. “Is this really such a bad outcome?”

He rolls his eyes. He doesn’t feel like explaining that, while he might have been a sorry excuse for a demon in a lot of ways, he really had made a lot of human lives miserable. Maybe not for very long, but their lives are so short. He almost does want to explain it, but they won’t get it and they’ll feel like they need to reassure him, and he’s just tired of it. Maybe he should tell Harry. Naomi’s father has never hesitated in sharing his opinions about, well, anything. But he likes Deb and Harry, and he doesn’t want to harm Naomi’s relationship with her parents, or Yael’s with her mentor.

“Speaking of bad outcomes,” says Naomi, “Zira.”

“Yes?”

“Remember what I said about discorporation!” Crowley says quickly. She waves his reminder away.

“We’ve known each other for fourteen years, and you’re only telling me _tonight_ that you have first editions of Rashi’s commentaries? Is it because you were worried we’d find out about you guys?”

Aziraphale looks stricken. “Oh, my dear! I’m so sorry, I would have told you years ago. I just forgot that I had them until now.”

“Hmm, really? I could believe that _Crowley_ forgot, but you keep such good track of your books!”

“You _know_ that biblical and Talmudic commentaries aren’t my core area of interest. I mostly kept them out of sentimental value, as a gift from a friend. I tucked them away in the storage area, and other than checking on them when my shop was restored, I haven’t had much cause to consult them.” He looks slightly worried. “Are you genuinely upset?”

“Nah, the wine was a good prank, and I believe you that you forgot.” She brightens. “Does this mean you’re willing to tell us about Rashi?”

The worry lifts from Aziraphale’s face and his eyes light up. “I was hoping you would ask!”

“Wait, really?”

Crowley snorts. “We’ve been dropping hints about the past for weeks, trying to see what would make you take the bait and ask.”

Yael raises an eyebrow. “You could have just told us, you know.”

“Sure, but where’s the fun in that?”

Naomi flaps her hands at Crowley and Yael. “Shush, I want to hear about Rashi! Were you friends?”

“I suppose we were. I certainly made a point of calling on him every time my assignments took me his way. He was so busy that we rarely had time to speak at length, but he always insisted that I join his family’s Shabbat dinner.” He smiles. ”Much like you and Yael do.”

“Did he know that you’re an angel?” Miriam asks.

“I don’t believe so. I told him once, but we were both _quite_ intoxicated, and even if he believed me at the time, I doubt he remembered the following morning. If he did, he never brought it up again.”

“He didn’t notice the whole ‘not aging’ thing?

Aziraphale looks sad. “He never had the chance. I was occupied with a multitude of assignments and wasn’t able to return to Troyes within his lifetime.”

“Did you ever meet him, Crowley?” asks Yael, before the silence can build.

“Only once or twice. Seemed kind of boring to me. Decent wine, though, for the era.”

“ _Boring?!_ ” Naomi and Aziraphale’s protests sound exactly the same, inflection and all.

“He was so fussy about words. And when you got him away from ‘but what does _this_ Hebrew word mean _precisely_ ’”—Crowley adopts a nasal whine that Shlomo never actually had—“he just wanted to rehash ancient history. I never understood why you enjoyed talking with him so much about those things. He only knew stories, and we lived through them. And they weren’t exactly fun the first time.”

“I enjoy hearing how the narratives change,” says Aziraphale.

“Wait, wait.” Naomi narrows her eyes. “You’re talking about midrash, aren’t you? Have you been reading midrash with me just to secretly laugh about how humans got it wrong?”

“No!” says Aziraphale, at the exact same time that Crowley says “Yes.”

“Crowley, you don’t read midrash with me.”

“I listen to you talk about it. Wasn’t there one about Mount Sinai being lifted up and hung over everyone’s head? Because I was pretty drunk that night but I would have remembered that.”

“Aww, you mean that didn’t actually happen?” She grins. “Actually, I’m glad that one didn’t happen, I never liked the message there. What about the one where Adam and Eve are supposed to be babysitting Samael’s son and end up killing and eating him?”

Crowley stares at her in appalled delight.

“See what you’re missing out on when you don’t read midrash with us? I’m guessing from your reaction that you never saw anything like that in Eden.”

“Of course not,” says Aziraphale. “Satan never entered the Garden. And to the best of my knowledge, his son is alive and well in England.”

Naomi gives them an incredulous smile. “The son of satan is in England?”

“So I believe,” Aziraphale. “He made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want us, er, messing about, so we’ve tried to leave him alone to live a human life. But he’s a very nice young man! He must be in his mid-twenties by now...but I digress. Regardless, I enjoy reading midrash with you for its own sake. Your color commentary is always entertaining. And of course, I respect your scholarship, just as I respected Shlomo’s.”

Naomi blinks rapidly. “I, uh, that’s actually more of a compliment than I’m able to process right now. Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

There’s an awkward silence while Naomi struggles with some emotion, then her face brightens. “Okay, but please tell me the one where Moses punches an angel is true.”

“I’m happy to confirm that one. Do you want to know the details?”

“Yes! Wait, yes, but maybe later. Right now I want to hear more about Rashi.”

*****

Crowley’s not particularly interested in the topic, so he wanders off, eventually ending up in the rooftop garden. He likes it there, when it isn’t freezing cold. He’s spent so much time up here over the years that the family eventually declared it “Crowley’s Roof.” Miriam even made a little paper sign to make the ownership clear. She was seven when she made it, and no one has ever commented about how the paper never seems to fade or get wet. 

After a while, Yael (predictably) joins him up there.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he says.

“Oh?”

“You’re going to say something like ‘Don’t let Naomi pressure you, you don’t have to tell Harry and Deb if you don’t want to.’ And then I’ll make some sort of noncommittal noise, and you’ll tell me a story about how you were all worried that Harry would hate you when he found out you were a lesbian or something but actually they were _nice_ about it”—he’s rather pleased with the amount of contempt he manages to fit into ‘nice’—and then I’ll say ‘it’s different for humans’ and you’ll say something about how it isn’t and then we’ll stare out into the distance and then…”

“And then?”

“That’s as far as I got.”

“I’ll admit that that’s a pretty plausible simulation, but that wasn’t actually what I was going to say.”

“No?”

“Well, I _was_ going to say you don’t have to let Naomi pressure you. But I wasn’t going to talk about coming out to Harry. For one thing, it wasn’t ever really an issue. I showed up on the first day of his class wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Dyke to watch out for’ and he didn’t even blink.”

“Fine, some other story then.”

“If I were going to tell you a story, it could be about all the awful things I said and did when I was still trying to please my mother. But even then, you’d say that it’s different for me, because I’m human, and because you don’t believe that I’d ever do anything _that_ bad.” She smiles. “I can run conversations in my head too.”

He stares at her, snake eyes wide and exposed. “What would you say next?”

“How about this? I work in refugee aid. Many of my clients have been through the sort of things you didn’t do but felt guilty claiming credit for. Some of them even participated, because people do terrible things when they’re trapped in those sorts of situations.”

“Why do you help them, then?” He’s been curious about this for a while. “It sounds exhausting and miserable.”

“Sometimes it is. But…I’m good at it. And I want to help repair the world. And I want people to have a chance to be more than the worst thing that’s happened to them, or the worst thing they’ve ever done.”

“Nice sentiment, but that’s human people. Demons are defined by our biggest mistake. That’s what unforgivable means.”

“Yes, well, you might as well say that humans are defined by our mortality. You still—“ she stops short, probably because Crowley has stepped back and lifted a hand up. He’s not sure what he’ll actually _do_ , but he wants to stop her there.

“We are not talking about that. Not. Talking. About. That.”

She bites her lip, then drops the subject. “Anyway, as much as I enjoy our rooftop chats, none of that is actually what I came up here for.”

“Oh?”

“Miriam wanted me to tell you that we’re about to watch the old Prince of Egypt cartoon—the one about Moses—and she’s hoping you and Zira will watch it with her and kibbitz.”

Crowley grins. “You realize that Aziraphale is going to be insufferably pedantic about everything.”

“And I assume you’re going to be extremely rude, yes. Miriam can’t wait, and Naomi’s making popcorn.”

*****

It’s getting late when the movie ends, but Crowley doesn’t feel like sleeping. Maybe it’s from the memories the movie brings up (however inaccurately), but it’s not the distant past he’s thinking of when he returns to the rooftop garden. He’s more concerned with the conversation just before dinner. At the time it had mostly seemed funny, that something Gabriel so obviously disdained could make humans better than him. Not just better—Crowley knows they’re _better_ —but holier.

The idea keeps nagging at him. Why give the humans free will? Why even bother making them at all? Their sheer inventiveness is amazing, but they turn it towards atrocity as often as grace, and most of the time they don’t use it for either. They can’t really be in competition with angels. But humans, these humans and the others he’s known throughout the millennia, they do get to choose what they work towards, how they use the imagination and creativity and brilliance that they have. Sometimes the choices go nowhere, but sometimes they ripple outward.

He knows his humans could be awful if they chose to be. They have such potential. He had a brief conversation with Yael’s mother, just the one time, and instantly saw how that same insight that Yael uses to help could be used to break people down instead. (It hadn’t worked on him, of course. Crowley has seen all manner of cruelty and manipulation and Yael’s mother, while unpleasant, was an amateur.)

In a way, he’s always thought of himself and Aziraphale as mirrors—Crowley is not great at being a demon, though he hid it well for over six thousand years. And Aziraphale never seemed particularly good at being an angel, what with his enjoyment of the pleasures of earth and his willingness to trade duties with a demon. But Aziraphale, unique among angels, receives no support or reward from Heaven, and helps people nonetheless. Crowley still causes mayhem, but he doesn’t do it to secure souls for his former Lord and Master, and even his more spectacular pranks haven’t actually resulted in a major increase of human cruelty (it wouldn’t be any fun). Anyway, Aziraphale can usually guilt him into undoing the worst damage—and that’s if Crowley hasn’t already guilted himself into it.

He has always known that Aziraphale was a better person than anyone in heaven, but Yael and Naomi were suggesting Aziraphale was a better angel as well. That there’s an angel metric, and Aziraphale is secretly scoring points on it when he takes another slice of raisin challah. Crowley isn’t sure how he feels about that.

How is it holy when it doesn’t burn?

He glares at nothing in particular. “Just what are you playing at? It’s not funny, whatever it is.”

“Crowley?” It’s Aziraphale’s voice, and he turns to see the angel’s head poking up through the door. “I thought I might find you here. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Sure, I mean no, I mean, you know what I mean. Come on up.” He offers Aziraphale a hand up. The angel doesn’t need it, he’s stronger and more solid than Crowley, but Crowley enjoys these little opportunities for physical contact, after so long of carefully avoiding it. Aziraphale smiles at him and leans in for a kiss before releasing Crowley’s hand.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he says, plucking a penny out of Crowley’s ear.

“You’ve gotten better. That was almost in my ear.” 

“Practice,” the angel replies, handing Crowley the penny.

“A Canadian penny? That’s all my thoughts are worth to you?”

“Hmph. Fine then, how about two zuzim. I have it on good authority that you can buy a goat with that.” He produces two coins of a sort that Crowley hasn’t seen in centuries.

“Hah.”

“Well?”

“You gave me the coins, I never promised anything in return.”

“Really, dearest, if you didn’t want to talk you could have just said so.”

“Nah, it’s not that, it’s just hard to explain.” Crowley gathers his thoughts in the face of Aziraphale’s patient silence. I was thinking about plans.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t the plan to visit New Jersey on Sunday?”

“No, er, I mean, uh. I meant more, plans involving us.”

“Won’t the trip involve us? I’d assumed you were coming with us to New Jersey, was I wrong?”

“No! Forget about New Jersey for a minute!”

“It’s difficult to forget about New Jersey. It’s very much in existence, you know, despite several efforts from my side. My former side, I mean.”

“Yours too?” Crowley is momentarily distracted. “Xaphan had a plan to—wait, no, why are we still talking about New Jersey?” He sees a slightly guilty smile on Aziraphale’s face. “You’re doing this on purpose!”

Aziraphale sighs. “I suppose I am. I just don’t want to argue about the Ineffable Plan right now.”

“You asked,” Crowley mutters. “I don’t either. And this isn’t that sort of thinking. I was just wondering, if there is a plan, where you fit in, and what you want out of it.”

“Where I fit in? What about you?”

Crowley shrugs. “Ehhhh, well.” He leans back over the rail, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes, even as the angel takes his hand.

“My dearest. I am confident that any plan that includes me has the two of us together. I mean, assuming that you want that…are you hinting that you don’t?”

Crowley snaps forward in a motion that human spines would have some difficulty with and grabs Aziraphale’s other hand. “No! Angel! No, never, you know that.”

“Then what…?” Aziraphale’s eyes narrow. “Really, Crowley, if this is some nonsense about not deserving me—“

Crowley barks out a laugh and drops his hands. “Hah, no. ‘Deserve’ is more your side’s thing. Your former side, I mean.”

“I don’t understand,” says Aziraphale.

“You know…’There’s Right, and there’s Wrong. If you do Wrong when you’re told to do Right, you deserve to be punished.’ That sort of thing. _My_ side just wanted whatever souls we could get. We never cared whether the poor buggers deserved it.” Crowley never had, anyway.

“Well, yes, fine, but you must acknowledge that the concept is sound—”

“Oh, I _must_?”

“Well, yes, even though people don’t always get the consequences they deserve, they do still deserve them. Er. The consequences that they didn’t get.”

“Who decides what’s deserved?”

“The Allmighty, of course.”

Crowley looks away and waits to see if Aziraphale will realize what he’s saying. He doesn’t, and Crowley doesn’t feel like asking the obvious question, about what _he_ deserved and what he was given. Or what was taken away.

After a moment, Aziraphale clears his throat. “My dear. I really, truly do not want to argue about the Ineffable Plan with you tonight, and I think that may be what we’re about to do, or perhaps what we’re already doing. Can we leave this, at least for now?”

Crowley nods. Aziraphale takes his hand again and laces his fingers through Crowley’s. “I don’t know what plans She has in store for us, ineffable or otherwise. But I can promise you that I will not cooperate with any plan that takes me away from you.” He lifts their clasped hands and kisses Crowley’s. “I will accompany you wherever you go. Even to Alpha Centauri. Even to New Jersey.”

“Now, angel, you don’t have to go _that_ far.”

“But we’ve planned for it!”

“Plans can be changed, you know.”

“Yes, but I _like_ this one. Harry and Deb will want to get dim sum, and I haven’t had decent egg tarts in months.”

“We just got some last week.”

“Those were Portuguese-style, they’re different.”

Aziraphale pouts, and Crowley kisses him. He can worry about holiness later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, uh, may have gone overboard with the Talmud references. Links to the relevant passages are in the [explanatory notes](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/374962491), which this time got so long that I had to break them into two parts.

“So,” asks Yael over breakfast. “Other than us, and apparently Rashi when you were drunk, have you ever told other humans about yourselves?”

“Sometimes for professional reasons,” says Aziraphale. “I never liked all the pageantry, so I tried to leave that sort of thing to those who do, but in the early days I was expected to do more overt work.”

“Below never paid as much attention. Sometimes they’d give me specific targets, but the rest of the time they cared more about the results.” Crowley doesn’t say the rest of it, that he never lacked for results, not even when he spent a decade or five asleep. He had been good at his job, but the humans were always better. “Hah, speaking of targets, who’s the one who was always disagreeing with Shammai?”

“Hillel?” Yael suggests.

“Yeah, him. _He_ was a specific target. Supposed to be, anyway. Do you know how annoying it is when someone refuses to lose their temper? Worse than annoying, because I was sent to tempt him into wrath and nothing I did made a dent.”

“Oh no,” says Naomi, eyes wide. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Would’ve, but when Hastur came up to deliver the reprimand I told him he could give it a try. I knew he couldn’t resist the chance to show me up.”

“Then what happened?”

Crowley’s grin might be just a shade diabolical. “Hastur went in full-on demon, and Hillel said some prayer and scorched his face half off. He went straight back Down and no one came up to bother me for decades.”

“Hm, I wonder if it was the Sh’ma,” says Yael. “That’s supposed to drive off demons, at least according to the Talmud.”

“One of the things, anyway.” Naomi suppresses a laugh. “Not in the bathroom, though.”

“No, in the bathroom there’s a bunch of other things that the sages supposedly did to scare off demons. One used to make a lot of noise by shaking something around in a cup, one had his wife stand outside the window... And someone, I think Abaye, used to bring a lamb in there with him—“

Miriam breaks in. “Why a lamb?”

“Good question! The Gemara doesn’t say. Any thoughts?”

“Are demons scared of sheep?” she asks Crowley, who is forced to admit that he doesn’t have much of an opinion about sheep either way. “Hm, then maybe the baahing is supposed to be like the copper cup? Except wait, the cup is an easier way to make noise. Maybe it was just to make him feel less scared?”

“An emotional support lamb?” Naomi suggests.

“I guess so. The Gemara really doesn’t say?”

Yael laughs. “No, their only question is ‘why a lamb and not a goat?’ And the answer is that a goat could be replaced with a goat-demon.”

“Don’t look at me,” Crowley says. “I’ve always kept a healthy distance from goats.” When possible, anyway. The exceptions have only reinforced this policy.

“None of this answers the real question,” says Naomi.

Miriam nods. “Yeah! Why were the rabbis so worried about demons in the bathroom, anyway?”

Everyone turns to Crowley.

“It was one time!” he says defensively. “I was pissed, I forgot to knock, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, and next thing I know everyone is screaming.”

“I guess that’s why they all felt like they had to make noise after that,” Miriam says. “Good thing they didn’t exorcise you! Wait, does that mean we shouldn’t say the Sh’ma around you?”

Yael frowns in thought. “We’ve said the Sh’ma while you’ve been in the house—many times.”

“And when you came for Shabbat services for Miriam’s bat mitzvah reading. Maybe it’s because we weren’t saying it _at_ you,” says Naomi. “Or maybe we’re just not as impressive as Hillel.”

“Or maybe it’s because Crowley isn’t really evil,” Yael suggests. “Sorry, Crowley. At least not as we would define it. But we won’t test it.”

Naomi nods, then looks at Crowley. “Sounds like your encounter with Hillel actually went pretty well, all things considered.”

Crowley’s grin returns. “Better than you think. I bet a guy five hundred zuzim that he couldn’t make Hillel lose his temper after that. Made some money _and_ got to take credit for tempting someone into gambling.”

Naomi bursts into laughter. Yael manages to keep a straight face, though the corners of her mouth twitch.

“You know,” she says, “In the Talmud it says the bet was only four hundred zuzim.”

“Nope, I remember, it was five hundred. But I think Aziraphale gave him a hundred out of charity.”

“Why only a hundred?” asks Naomi. “Why not replace the whole sum.”

“Because gambling is a sin,” says the angel primly. “Also, _I_ found the man to be _quite_ annoying, even if Hillel didn’t.”

“Did you know that there’s an organization to support Jewish college students called Hillel International?” Yael asks.

“I did not! I’m sure he’d be very pleased to know that,” says Aziraphale.

Crowley grins. “What about Shammai?”

“Hah, no, there’s no equivalent named after him that I know of. Though I did date a girl in college who was in a Jewish acapella group called ‘Shammai International’. I didn’t know much about Judaism at the time, so I didn’t get the joke until it was too late to appreciate it.”

“Was this Tamara?” Naomi asks her.

“No, Tamara isn’t Jewish. This was Dana, you never met her. She was also really involved with Hillel, come to think of it. The organization, not the person.” Yael grins. “Only with you two would I need to clarify that. But it actually ended up being awkward the following year after we, uh, had kind of a dramatic breakup. I had to find a synagogue off campus. Anyway, that was a tangent. Crowley, didn’t you say a while ago that you knew Shammai?”

Crowley makes a face at the memory.

___

_“So,” he said, leaning against a stack of wooden planks in his most obnoxiously casual pose, “how about it?”_

_He didn’t even see the cubit coming for him. The shove caught him completely off balance, sending him tripping over his own feet and falling in the dirt, glasses askew. They were no longer shading his eyes, but they were still mostly on his face. If he just remained calm, he could push them back up before the rabbi noticed anything. Probably, anyway._

_Calm is a four-letter word._

_One snarled demonic curse and the measuring stick burned away so quickly that there was nothing left but a smear of ash on Shammai’s hand. Crowley expected him to shout, or at least startle a bit, but instead he just looked down at the demon still sprawled on the ground in front of him. Under the rabbi’s thoughtful stare, Crowley had time to remember just how unpleasant Hastur’s last exorcism looked. At least it had been quick, he thought, steeling himself for it._

_“Are you some kind of demon, then?” Shammai asked._

_“Depends. Are you going to exorcise me if I say yes?”_

_“Depends. Are you going to keep asking me stupid questions?”_

_Crowley shook his head._

_“I think we’ll be fine, then.”_

___

He relates the story to the two women, deciding that their laughter is worth the embarrassment.

“What happened next?” asks Yael.

“He helped me up, dusted me off, and we had a drink. Several drinks, in fact. And I bought him a new yardstick, since I had recently won a bunch of extra money.”

“That’s _amazing_ ,” says Naomi. “Did you stay in touch?”

“For a while. There were a few centuries there where Downstairs was paying more attention than usual, so it was ‘tempt this man, torment that one,’ usually on opposite sides of the globe. Travel was a lot slower then, too.” Especially since he kept falling off his horses, not that he’s going to mention that detail.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” Crowley snaps, hating the sympathy on their faces. “It came with the job. It was…” He doesn’t know how to explain it. He’d enjoyed human company, but he hadn’t really understood them as, well, people until he’d thought the world was ending, and thousands of years of carefully cultivated detachment had collapsed. Finished collapsing. “It was better than the alternatives,” he finishes.

Naomi is kind enough to change the subject. “Did you know anyone else from the Talmud?”

Crowley shrugs. “How would I know? I’ve never read it.”

“Oh, good point. Well, did you know any other important Jewish scholars from the era?”

“How would I know who was important?”

Naomi just looks at him.

“Oh, fine.” Crowley thinks. “Who was that awful pedant you used to travel with?” he asks Aziraphale.

“I’m sure I have no idea to whom you might be referring.” It’s great how stuffy his angel gets when he’s offended.

“Oh, don’t give me that. You know exactly who I mean. The one who went back and forth between Israel and Babylonia with you all those times and never had an original thought of his own.”

“Crowley! Rav Dimi was a serious scholar who dedicated his life to the dissemination of vital knowledge.”

“Sure, if you think quoting at you is valuable and not irritating.”

“It was not irritating. You’re being unkind simply because you disliked him.”

“ _He_ disliked _me_ , angel. Thought I was a bad influence on you.”

Aziraphale looks slightly guilty. “That may have been my own fault. It’s possible that I gave him the wrong impression of you.”

“Nah, you gave him the right impression. And I still think he was boring.” He turns back toward Naomi and Yael, who’ve been observing the exchange with some amusement. “Sorry I don’t have any good stories about him. Every time I’d stop by to say hi to Aziraphale, Dimi would get all stiff and formal and keep changing the subject back to the most hair-splitting technicalities.”

“As I kept telling you, that was just his nature. He was the same with me.”

“Pff, remember the time he started babbling on about dates and almonds? That was definitely aimed at me, whatever it was.”

Yael hmms quietly. “I wonder if that’s a reference,” she says in response to Crowley’s glance. “I want to look it up and see what the context was.”

Crowley can’t imagine what context could make a difference, but he’s sure he’ll find out eventually.

*****

“I hope you don’t mind that we have a guest coming over for lunch,” Yael says later that morning. “Sam—you’ve met them a couple of times, I think.”

Crowley doesn’t mind, though he does find it mildly amusing how his humans try to feed everyone they meet. It’s no wonder they befriended Aziraphale so quickly. It’s a match made in hea-…er, made on earth.

The history discussions are put on hold—it’s one thing to consider telling Deb and Harry, but Crowley has no interest in blabbing his secrets to some human he just met a few months ago. And yet, somehow the past manages to sneak its way into the conversation.

“Did I hear that you’ve set a date for your beit din?” Naomi asks Sam, passing them the bowl of salad.

“Yeah! I’m super excited. And nervous. Exervous? Nervited?”

“You’ll do fine,” Yael reassures them. “You’ve done the reading, you’re a regular and enthusiastic participant in everything from Torah discussion to the rugelach bake-off, you clearly understand what you’re getting into, and you’re clearly serious about it. And at this point you’ve observed every holiday.”

“Every Jewish holiday, anyway,” says Sam. “I’m not doing Christmas anymore, for obvious reasons.”

Crowley has started to develop a sense for certain conversations. That faint sound of cracking ice.

Aziraphale has not. “Will you miss it?” he asks.

The snake part of Crowley’s brain notices the way Sam freezes for an instant, before they give a wide-eyed smile. Or something like a smile.

“Not…not really.”

There’s that cracking sound.

Naomi breaks the awkward silence with a question. “So, uh, have you picked a Hebrew name yet?”

Sam’s face relaxes. “I’ve talked with Rabbi Wolf about options, but I haven’t made up my mind yet. I mean, the obvious one is Shmuel, but I told her that I wanted something more gender-neutral, for obvious reasons. She suggested I look into angel names, since angels are nonbinary.”

“That is true,” Yael says, without even the slightest glance towards Crowley or Aziraphale.“In Jewish tradition, angels are genderless.”

Sam continues, “Rabbi Wolf suggested Ariel, but I keep thinking of the little mermaid. Michael is pretty gendered in English. Gabriel’s an option, though. Or Uriel…it’s a little unusual, but I like that it refers to light.”

Aziraphale makes an odd choking sound.

“Are you okay?” asks Naomi.

He waves away her concerns. “Just startled, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

Aziraphale smiles, though it’s not his best effort. “I have…relatives with those names. And, as you know, I’m not on the best terms with my family at the moment.”

Naomi, Yael, and Miriam all look stricken. Sam, missing some crucial context, just seems sympathetic.

“That’s right, I think you mentioned being estranged. Sorry to bring up bad memories.”

“No, no, it’s fine. They’re perfectly good names. I wouldn’t recommend Sandalphon, though.”

“As a name _or_ as a person,” says Crowley.

“You have someone in your family named Sandalphon?” Sam asks.

“I’m afraid so.”

“So, like, is everyone in your family named after angels?” Sam looks around the table. “Wait, is there context I’m missing?”

“Zira’s family is really strange,” Naomi says.

“Oh, sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not at the moment, no.” But Aziraphale summons up a better smile, and Sam relaxes a bit.

“I’m not totally sold on having an angel name anyway, to be honest. I’m open to suggestions, though.”

“What about Lior?” asks Yael. “That also refers to light. It’s a pretty popular modern nonbinary Hebrew name.”

“Hmm…” Sam sounds unconvinced.

“What do you think of Simkha?” asks Aziraphale.

“Oh, that’s a nice one,” says Yael. “It means joy. And it sounds like your English name.”

“Ooh, I like that,” says Sam. “Simkha bet Avraham v’Sarah. Yeah. Thanks, I’ll write that one down.”

“You truly shouldn’t avoid an angel name if that’s what you want, though,” says Aziraphale.

“Nah, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea anyway. I’ve been reading _Legends of the Jews_ and the angels in there are kind of awful.”

“Oh yeah,” says Naomi. “Angels in the midrash are generally either terrifying forces of nature or petty shitheads. Or both.” She looks at Aziraphale and Crowley. “Isn’t that right?”

“Um, well, that’s certainly the depiction in some folktales and commentaries,” says Aziraphale.

Crowley laughs. “It’s true,” he says. “With a couple of exceptions.” One, anyway.

*****

After Sam leaves, Naomi turns to Aziraphale. “Sorry, I was trying to change the subject and ended up making things worse.”

“It’s perfectly all right,” says Aziraphale, this time with a better smile. “I’m confident the situation will be resolved eventually. And in the meantime, I’m quite content with the current state of affairs.” He sits on the couch, gently pulling Crowley down next to him.

“Still…” Naomi frowns as she plops into a chair. “Anyway, I’m more interested in the humans you’ve known than the angels. I still can’t believe you have original copies of Rashi’s commentaries.”

“I _am_ sorry…” Aziraphale’s apology is cut off by Naomi’s preemptory wave.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just amazing that you have it, that’s all. Next you’ll be telling me that you have an autographed copy of the _Epistle to Yemen_ or something.”

“I’m afraid not. Crowley would be more likely to, of the two of us.”

“Not me, I don’t read books.”

“Then who turned down all those page corners in my copy of _Phoenix Aura_?” calls Miriam from the dining room.

“Must have been Aziraphale,” Crowley calls back.

“I _what?_!” gasps the slandered angel, drawing back from Crowley and staring at him in horror.

“You are a terrible liar,” Yael tells Crowley, not bothering to hide her amusement. He grins back.

“More importantly,” says Naomi, “Crowley knew Rambam?”

He thinks for a moment. “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”

“That’s not actually his name,” Yael says. “It’s an acronym. Rabbi Moshe ben Maimun.”

“That sounds familiar, but… nope, still can’t remember.”

“Crowley, you must remember, you were friends!” Aziraphale nudges him. “Fustat, twelfth century?”

“Twelth…. oh! You mean _Musa_!”

“Musa?”

“Musa ibn Maymun, right, I knew it sounded familiar.”

“You mostly spoke Arabic together?” asks Naomi.

“Yeah, we must have done. I forgot that he also spoke Hebrew.”

Naomi giggles. “Crowley, only you could forget that Maimonides knew Hebrew.” He makes a face at her and she giggles again. “How did you meet him, anyway?”

“He saw me in Fustat and introduced himself. Said he recognized me from an astronomy lecture in Fez a few years back. I told him he had a good memory, and he said I was, er, ‘distinctive.’”

“Did you remember him?” Naomi asks.

“Not from the lecture. But I went to,” Crowley waves a vague hand, “countless astronomy talks. The Caliphate was a good place for it.” He’d been fascinated by this sudden spurt of human interest in the cosmos. Some of what the scholars had said was incomprehensible nonsense, and many of the understandable bits were wrong, but Crowley liked to listen to them anyway, these humans who loved the stars and wanted to understand the universe.

Not that he’d stopped at listening.

He grins. “Got kicked out of more than half of them. I’d show up, listen carefully, then point out an error or ask some question about their calculations, and send the whole lot of them into an uproar.”

Aziraphale sighs. “So that’s what he meant by distinctive.”

Yael smiles. “That’s wonderful, Crowley. What a very _you_ way to help advance human math and science.”

The denial is pure reflex. “I wasn’t advancing anything. I was sowing confusion and rage, causing some of the brightest minds of the age to question their beliefs, and undermining their self-esteem.”

“Yeah, nowadays we just call that peer review,” says Naomi.

Aziraphale is giving him that smug smile that means he’s about to say something annoyingly nice, and Crowley snaps, “Don’t even start.”

The angel pulls Crowley closer to him and kisses his cheek. “I won’t say a thing.”

“Hmf. So anyway, this youngish human introduces himself, says he recognizes me, wants to ask me some follow-up questions about astronomy. We have a couple drinks, and go our separate ways. Then I ran into him at al-‘Adid’s court—I’d been sent there to tempt an official to take a bribe, and I almost had him when Musa comes up and treats me like an old friend.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” says Naomi.

Crowley snorts. “Nah, he just wanted me to introduce him to important people. Great guy, but a bit of a social climber.”

“To be fair,” says Yael, “his social status helped keep the Jewish community safe. Or at least safer.”

“Oh sure, I didn’t hold it against him. He returned the favor a few years later, under Saladin, and introduced me at court. But it was funny. And then he just started inviting me over whenever I was in town, at least for a while. And who am I to turn down free drinks?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s protest is too close to his ear for comfort. “You were friends, I know you were. When you heard about his brother, you went straight to Cairo.”

“I had business there.”

“You went to visit him after his brother died?” asks Naomi.

“Eh, it was on the way. I just went a little earlier. Still took me a year, though. I had a lot of temptations that year.” None of them involving ships or merchant ventures, he doesn’t bear any guilt for _that_.

“It's still sweet that you went, though," Naomi says. "I’m sure your visit helped.” 

“Hah, I wouldn’t know about that. He was too depressed too leave his bed, so I shouted stupid questions through his window until he got up to yell at me. He wasn’t as patient as Hillel.”

“I suppose that’s one way to treat depression,” says Yael with a half-smile.

“Playing to my strengths,” says Crowley with a touch of pride. “I can be very irritating.” He hears Aziraphale’s muffled laugh. “It didn’t cure him or anything, he was still sad for years. Overworked, too. I didn’t see much of him for a while.”

“Did you ever meet him?” Naomi asks Aziraphale. 

“Only a few times, and only through Crowley. Do you remember that dinner of his?”

“Not really,” says Crowley, lying through his teeth. He remembers it well. It had been a nice night. They’d argued about medicine, astronomy, philosophy, and when Crowley got tired of it he just sat back and listened, watching the lamplight play across Aziraphale’s face as the angel leaned forward to emphasize his point. He also remembers how it ended.

____

_“This has been a lovely evening, truly, but I really must be going,” said Aziraphale, yawning and stretching._

_Crowley followed him to the door. “Walk you back?”_

_“Probably not the best idea, I’m afraid. The streets aren’t as full at this hour, and we wouldn’t want to be seen together.” The angel’s smile looked almost wistful. Crowley firmly squelched that line of thought before it could make things worse. “You should probably wait a little while before leaving, if it wouldn’t strain the kindness of our host.”_

_“Yeah, sure. Just be careful walking home. I can’t always be around to pay ransom demands.”_

_“That only happened once!”_

_“Twice, actually. Don’t you remember those bandits back in Israel?”_

_“That was a thousand years ago! And you didn’t pay any ransom demands that time.”_

_“Fine, but last month still counts.”_

_“Hmph. You didn’t have to bargain quite so hard with them. It’s not as though you need the money.”_

_“They wanted eighty gold dinars!”_

_“Yes, and you talked them all the way down to ten, it was very embarrassing.”_

_“I could have let them keep you for another week, I’ll bet they’d have gone down to five after that.”_

_“Or maybe they would have given in to their better natures. I’m sure I had them almost convinced. Not that I’m not grateful! I’d thank you, if it wouldn’t get us both in trouble. As it is, I will take your warning to heart.”_

_“Good, because I’m tired of making counterfeit dinars.”_

_“Good night, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, shaking his head. He started to reach a hand out, then pulled it back._

_“Night, angel,” Crowley said quietly. Once Aziraphale was out of sight, he returned to Musa’s table, dropping himself into the seat and emptying his wine glass in a single gulp. He was too sober for this, and anyway, Musa had good taste in wine, even if he did insist on sweetening it._

_“Where we we?”_

_Musa studied him with a hint of a smile._

_“What?”_

_“I’d wondered,” Musa said._

_“You what?”_

_“What your companion was like. You’ve always been reticent on the subject.”_

_“No, I, er, what are you getting at?” He was definitely too sober for this._

_“You don’t have to dissemble, Crowley.” Musa shrugged. “It’s hardly an issue these days. I suppose as a jurist I would condemn certain acts, if I heard about them. But really, I’d prefer you didn’t burden me with intimate details of your relationships regardless. And as a friend, I’d like to see you happy.”_

_“Uh, I think you, um…”_

_“What, did you think I would be outraged? I’m not some fanatical ascetic or Frankish hick, you know. I am from_ Al-Andalus _, of gardens and revelry._

_“You were just a kid when you left. You never went to any of those parties.”_

_“No, but I know you did, and I know what they were like. I’ve read the poetry—Samuel haNagid and his gazelles. Or, how does the ben Mar Saul poem go?_

‘Because of him my soul is sick,

perplexed and yearning.

His speech upon my heart

is like dew upon parched land.

Draw me from the pit of destruction

that I go not down to hell!’”

_Musa finished his recitation with a smug “I may be a scholar, but I’m hardly sheltered.”_

_“I thought you hated poetry.”_

_“Not in the slightest, I just think it’s a waste of time. But we all must indulge in a little frivolity, lest we fall into melancholy.”_

_“Funny, usually you tell me I’m indulging in too much frivolity. You and Aziraphale both. Anyway, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not even sure he’d admit that we’re friends.”_

_“Is that so? He seemed fond enough of you.”_

_“Sure, in private. But we’re hereditary enemies. Our, er, people would kill us both if they saw us talking.”_

_Musa poured each of them another glass of wine, adding his usual dose of honey and a generous amount of water. “Your people, you say? You are a mysterious man. But your people’s objections shouldn’t be an insurmountable barrier to friendship. The Gemara records the debates of two famous scholars, Hillel and Shammai.”_

_“—Oh yeah, I remember them,” Crowley interrupted._

_Musa shook his head. “Someday I hope to learn where you were educated. Regardless. If you know of them, you must know that they were always at odds. He paused, gathering his thoughts. And yet, the students of beit Hillel and beit Shammai lived in the same community, celebrated together, and intermarried. We do the same today with the Karaites, though I think that there are some worrying halachic problems with intermarriage. Not the marriage per se, but the validity of their divorces… But that’s beside the point. Where was I? Oh yes. Beit Hillel and beit Shammai coexisted. We coexist with the Karaites. And of course we coexist with the Muslims and the Christians within the limits of our ability and their tolerance. Indeed, many of my treasured friends and correspondents are Muslim. And as you know, I’ve even worked out ways to drink with gentiles without violating the prohibitions in the Talmud.” He tapped the container of honey, his smile redolent with self-satisfaction. “Perhaps the same will happen between your respective tribes, whoever they may be.”_

_“Not bloody likely. Anyway, we’re more than just different schools. We're supposed to be fundamentally opposed. We_ are _opposed. Just because we get along sometimes doesn’t mean we can agree on much.”_

_“I don’t suppose you know the story of Reish Lakish and Rabbi Yohanan?”_

_“Nope.”_

_“I’m not sure which answer would have been more surprising. Ah, well.”Musa refused to explain further and soon changed the subject, to Crowley’s irritation, or possibly relief._

____

“Hey,” he asks Yael. “Who was Reish Lakish?”

“What, you never met him?”

“There have been a lot of humans in the last six thousand years!”

“Sorry, just teasing. He’s in the Talmud. He and Rabbi Yohanan are another pair, a little like Hillel and Shammai, who often disagree. Except they were closer than Hillel and Shammai. It’s a sad story, actually. Funny at parts, but also sad.”

“And gay,” says Naomi.

“Yes, funny, sad, and at least a little gay."

"Are you going to tell it?" asks Crowley.

"Sure! I'll give a summary, and then we can pull up the full story later if you want. So, Reish Lakish was a bandit chief, and one day he sees Rabbi Yohanan, who is famously beautiful. Rabbi Yohanan is impressed with Reish Lakish’s strength, and Reish Lakish is impressed with Rabbi Yohanan’s hotness.”

“There’s a whole section of the Talmud where they go into detail about how amazingly hot Rabbi Yohanan is,” Naomi interjects.

“Yes. And not just hot, but _pretty_. So pretty that it makes other rabbis cry over the fragility of mortal beauty. And he didn't have a beard, which apparently made him different from the other hot rabbis of the Talmud.”

“There was a list?”

Yael just gives him a look. “Crowley. We’re Jewish. Of _course_ there’s a list. And nitpicking over the rankings.”

Naomi interrupts again. “Speaking of the rankings, I can think of another attractive rabbi right now, and _she_ doesn’t have a beard either.”

Yael kisses her wife. “Given how this story ends, I’m not sure if I want to encourage the comparison. But thank you, sweet. Anyway, Reish Lakish tells Rabbi Yohanan he’s beautiful, and Rabbi Yohanan convinces Reish Lakish to study Torah and marry his sister, who is apparently even prettier. So Reish Lakish becomes a famous Torah scholar himself, and the two rabbis are best friends and brothers in law. Until one day they’re having a debate and Rabbi Yohanan throws Reish Lakish’s past as a bandit in his face.”

“Extremely unfairly,” Naomi interjects.

“Yes, and bad debate technique as well. Anyway, Reish Lakish is so upset over the fight that he gets sick, and then he dies because Rabbi Yohanan is also sulking and refuses to make up with him. Of course, as soon as he dies, Rabbi Yohanan is heartbroken and filled with remorse. His students and friends try to cheer him up, but they keep agreeing with him and telling him he’s wise, and what Yohanan misses is Reish Lakish telling him he’s wrong. Eventually he goes crazy with grief and dies. And then the Gemara changes the subject, as is their wont.”

“Huh.”

“Why do you ask, anyway?”

“Eh, Musa mentioned the name once, is all.”

Yael, like the Gemara, is willing to move on, but Crowley stews quietly over it for the rest of the evening.

*****

“Take a walk with me?” Aziraphale asks him that evening.

“‘Course. Always. Anywhere you like.”

They find themselves, as they so often do, at a park. Crowley miracles some bread to feed the ducks, then remembers Miriam telling him that bread isn’t good for ducks, and changes it to corn.

“You’re pensive again. Should I offer you another penny? Or, I may have a dinar somewhere…”

“Better not be a counterfeit one.”

“I wouldn’t dream of impinging upon your area of speciality. Well, except for all the times that I did. Only at your behest, though.”

“You were pretty good at it.”

“Half the time I didn’t need to do anything, you know. I’d just find something to describe that fit the instructions. Humanity is distressingly obliging in that regard.”

Crowley turns to kiss him, and for a moment, his mind goes quiet. It doesn’t last—Crowley has never been a particularly calm or restful being—but when he kisses Aziraphale, there’s always that instant where nothing else can compete for his attention. The dozen or so years they’ve been together isn’t long in the context of an immortal lifetime, but Crowley suspects that he’ll never get tired of it.

“You’re wearing an odd smile,” Aziraphale tells him. “Is something wrong?”

“No! The opposite, if anything. I was just thinking that I still can’t believe this is allowed.”

“Technically, it’s not, it’s just that our sides—our former sides—have written us off. But I can’t even imagine what Gabriel would say.”

Crowley draws back. “What _Gabriel_ would say? Who said anything about Gabriel?” He notices that Aziraphale is looking worried, and pulls him close to kiss him again. “ _You’re_ letting me do this. That’s the only permission I ever needed.”

“Ever?” asks Aziraphale, skepticism warring with affection on his face. “Surely you don’t mean—“

“Since the Garden,” Crowley interrupts him. “I’d have kissed you right there on the wall if you’d let me. Wouldn’t have been a good idea, for either of us, but I would have.” He notices that Aziraphale has gone pink.

“You always were the braver one,” the angel murmurs.

“What? No, it wasn’t bravery. It just didn’t really matter. Wait, no, not like that! I mean, if my side found out, they weren’t going to care _how_ I’d been ‘fraternizing.’ Being your friend—not being your mortal enemy—was already enough to earn annihilation in the least pleasant way they could manage.” Crowley looks away for a second, and shrugs, making his voice and movements deliberately casual. “They’re not very creative, but they would have wanted to make an example. I mostly just tried not to think about it, that's all. Sure, I was scared of them finding out, but there were so many other things that could have gotten me eliminated, it was hard to keep up.”

He had learned pretty quickly that one can only live with constant fear for so long before it fades into background noise. It didn’t go away, it was still exhausting, but it got easier to shove it into the corners of his mind. 

“But, they would have…Crowley, they would have destroyed you.”

“I know! We’ve been over this, remember? But look, my side was never going to be _nice_. There wasn’t ever going to be an upside.” That, as he keeps trying and failing to explain, is the point of being a demon. If you’re unforgivable, you don’t really have any alternatives. Ever. Except for Crowley, who had Earth and Aziraphale. “Anyway, they didn’t find out, and when they did find out they didn’t destroy me, and it all worked out in the end.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale runs his fingers along the side of Crowley’s face. “I still do worry sometimes, though.”

“Yeah, me too.”

When they’re almost back at the brownstone, Aziraphale says, “I did know him, actually.”

“Know who?”

“Reish Lakish.”

“Really? Why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s a bit of an embarrassing memory…”

“Waitasecond…was he the bandit who kidnapped you?”

Aziraphale sighs. “Yes. Not of the set from whom you ransomed me in Cairo, obviously, but the earlier one.”

“You have to tell the humans about it. Think of their reactions.”

“Hmm, perhaps I will.” He stops walking and takes a breath. “Hearing Yael mention him made me realize…I believe that I might owe you an apology.”

“What, for getting kidnapped? Nah, it wasn’t your fault, you were just trying to help. I never minded the odd rescue.” Fair’s fair, after all.

“No, not for getting kidnapped. I owe you thanks for the assistance, but not an apology.” He’s quiet for a minute. “I realized that I’ve done the same as Rabbi Yohanan. Throwing your past in your face when we argued. I owe you an apology for that. And I _am_ sorry, truly.”

Crowley looks away again, shrugs. “Eh, it’s fine.”

“But it wasn’t! I knew even at the time that it was the wrong thing to say, and I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, but I needed to apologize.” Amazing how stubborn his angel can be, even when offered an easy exit.

“You really didn’t, but yeah, forgiven. It wasn’t my favorite thing to hear, but I always knew why you said it.” He did, too. Aziraphale had always faced a different kind of fear, one that didn’t let him just say “fuck it” and damn the consequences. One that dangled the possibility of real success, and had gradations of failure. And the reminder to keep his distance had been useful for them both, even if it stung.

“You knew?”

“‘Course I did. It’s because you have bad debate technique.”

“Crowley.”

Crowley kisses him. “It’s _fine_ , angel. It’s in the past. Ancient history.” He tries to think of a change of subject. “So, did you know the other one? Yohanan?”

“I did meet him, but only the one time, in his youth. It was well before he met Reish Lakish.”

“Was he as pretty as they say? You know Naomi and Yael will want to know.”

“I honestly don’t remember. He was certainly popular, but human beauty standards have changed so drastically and often in the intervening centuries, it’s hard to remember. And, well, his wasn’t the face I was looking for.”

“Whose was?”

“Who do you think, my dear? The one face I’ve always looked for, these past six thousand years.”

Aziraphale smiles at him, and the background noise fades away. Not all the way and just for a moment, but oh, it was all worth it, and it always was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, the chapter count has expanded to four. It will remain there. I'm hoping to wrap this up by the end of the month! 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to post this story sometime around the HHD, but it keeps getting longer. There's so much history to draw on! And midrash as well. I've been reading the Ginzberg _Legends of the Jews_ midrash compilation with my chavruta partner and you guys, it is a trip. 
> 
> Anyway, this is why it's taken me almost a year to fulfill this prompt, and also why there will be at least another two chapters. And possibly three. Let's see if I can have this installment wrapped up before Jan 1. 
> 
> Thank you so much to Periphyton for this prompt, which I absolutely love. And thank you all for your patience and the encouraging comments you have left.


End file.
